


Cross Words

by MykEsprit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Coffee Shop, Daily Prophet, F/M, Humor, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-07 08:00:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14666757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykEsprit/pseuds/MykEsprit
Summary: 18-Down: A thorn in her side (6 Letters) – Solution: Malfoy26-Across: A witch he loves to infuriate (7 Letters) – Solution: GrangerAn expansion of the drabble “Do I Know You?” from Half-Baked Hermiones. Dramione. Post-Hogwarts AU. Part 1 of 5.





	1. 5-Across: As ____ as a Malfoy (3 Letters)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine. 
> 
> A/N: An expansion of the drabble, “Do I Know You?” from Half-Baked Hermiones.

Sunlight reflected off the window pane of Rhett’s Café, momentarily blinding him as he walked up to the door. Pain briefly lanced through his eyes and to his muddled mind, still recovering from last night’s party binge.

This was not what he needed this morning.

What he did need were two pots of dark roast coffee, preferably intravenously; a cheap paper cup should do the trick in a pinch.

He opened the door and felt the universe spit in his face, again. The line to the register was twelve customers deep, and there were only two baristas flitting behind the counter. If he was going to make it to his meeting on time, he should probably just leave now.

He was about to spin on his heels and rush out when he inhaled that smoky, rich aroma of roasted Arabica coffee beans.

 _Fuck it_. It’s not like they could hold a meeting with Malfoy Enterprises without Draco Malfoy, could they?

He stood at the end of the line. Five minutes later, he still hadn’t moved. He tapped his feet in a quick, impatient rhythm, and his fingers ran through his hair for lack of something better to do. A loud, prolonged sigh escaped from his chest as he looked around the coffee shop – anything to distract himself from his growing frustration.

As his gaze swept over the room, his attention landed on a petite woman standing near the claiming area. Her hair was a walnut brown, and it fell to her shoulders in large ringlets. She wore a grey gored skirt with a burgundy button-up top. Something about the combination of the curls against the red cloth triggered something in the back of his mind.

A memory, maybe.

He hadn’t even consciously decided to approach her, but he found his legs leaving his spot from the inert line.

“Excuse me, miss?” he asked, as he sidled next to her.

She turned to face him.  The timid smile that had been forming on her lips fell into a surprised ‘O.’ Her eyes, the same shade of brown as her hair, were wide with shock.

She knew him; it was obvious. He peered at her face closer, trying to remember where he had met her before.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

“No,” she said, too quickly.

The note of her soft-spoken voice was familiar to his ears. He tried to place her in different locales.

Was it in Paris last season, during Fashion Week? He surreptitiously glanced over her clothes – off-the-rack, from the look of the fit. So, probably not fashion-related.

Could he have met her this past summer at the beach in Saint-Tropez? Her near-translucent skin made that highly doubtful; she looked like she hadn’t been exposed to direct sunlight for a long time.

A picture of the Scottish Highlands flashed in his mind. He tried to imagine her there, her face softer and more rounded with youth, and her brown curls flying haphazardly in the wind.

“Granger?” he asked, with a degree of uncertainty. “Hermione Granger?”

She shook her head and peeped out, “No.”

He eyed her skeptically.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

A wince flickered over her expression, and it confirmed his theory. Granger never could pull off a straight face when she lied, even to get those idiot friends of hers out of trouble.

As he scrutinized her, a determined pout formed on her rosebud lips. He swiped the knuckle of his forefinger over his own to hide a growing smirk.

If she wanted to play a game, there’s no reason he couldn’t have his fun, too. “I beg your pardon. I thought you were someone I knew from school.”

“That’s all right,” she said, with a shrug. “I just have one of those faces, you know?”

“I don’t know about that,” Draco said generously. “Though, now that I think about it, you couldn’t possibly be who I thought you were.”

“Oh?” she asked, her eyes alit with curiosity.

He nodded. “I haven’t seen her for about twelve years now.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “And from what I remember about her, it’s unlikely that she aged well.”

“Really?” she asked, pursing her lips.

The smile on his face grew wider. “Yeah. She was one of those people always sequestered indoors, buried under a book. Never moved from her spot in the library, not even for meals or hot showers.”

She scoffed. “I very much doubt that,” she said stiffly.

“She probably looks like an old hag by now,” he said through the side of his mouth.

She huffed irritably, her hands fisting at her sides. Draco could barely contain his laughter at her stubborn insistence at this farce.

“I apologize, how rude of me not to introduce myself,” he said. He offered his hand out to her. “My name is Draco Malfoy.”

She took his hand tentatively. Her eyes darted around the café and settled somewhere over his shoulder, where the employees were busy filling orders. “Bar—Barbara.”

“Barbarbara?” he asked, feigning confusion as he shook her hand.

“Yes,” she said in a flat tone. “It’s a family name.”

They stood with their hands still clasped, neither retracting from the handshake of wills.

The stakes were raised even higher when the barista yelled, “I’ve got a large macchiato for Hermione!”

Draco arched an eyebrow at her in challenge. She nudged her chin a bit higher.

“Hermione! Large macchiato!” the barista hollered again.

She squeezed his hand a bit tighter. His smirk grew even broader.

“HERMIONE!” the overworked barista shouted.

“Well, I’ve got to go,” she said hurriedly and sped to the exit.

“Wait!” he called out after her. “Didn’t you come in here for some coffee?”

“No!” she yelled over her shoulder.

“So, what on earth did you come into a coffee shop for?” he jeered.

“For the ambiance!” She yanked the door and raced outside. He chuckled as she crossed the street and hustled out of sight.

The disgruntled barista still held the paper cup in her hand as he made his way to the counter.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “My friend _Hermione_ had a sudden emergency. I’ll take that for her.”

The barista waved a careless hand and let him have the coffee. “It’s not the first time she’s run out like that – must have one of those posh, important jobs at the Ministry. But, she always comes here every morning, and she’s a good tipper, so…” She shrugged indifferently.

“She comes here _every_ morning?” he asked, as he looked out the window with a mischievous smile. He took a sip of her hot macchiato. “Perfect.”

ooOOoo

“Good morning, Barbarbara,” he murmured close to her ear, and she nearly jumped out of her pumps.

Hermione craned her neck to the side to catch his impish grin. Standing close behind her in line, he leaned back on his heels and stuffed his hands inside the pockets of his tailored suit. The corners of his eyes crinkled, though with mirth or mockery, she didn’t know.

Both, she decided after a moment, as she reminded herself of who he was _:_ Draco Malfoy, the sneaky, scheming, self-gratifying, no-good bastard—

“Good morning,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Are you here to take in the atmosphere again? Or are you actually going to get coffee this time?”

Oh, she would get coffee. Extra hot. All the better to throw it in his face and watch him beg for a merciful death—

“Coffee,” she spit out.

He nodded and walked past her to the register just as a customer stepped away.

“One double espresso and one large macchiato,” he said without glancing in her direction.

She stepped up to his side and tried to cancel his order for her. He waved her protestations away with a casual flourish of his fingers as he handed the requisite Galleons to the cashier.

“Names?” the man behind the counter asked, felt tip of a marker poised over the side of a paper cup.

“’Draco’ for the espresso,” he said, then more emphatically, “’Hermione’ for the macchiato.”

She couldn’t suppress her defeated sigh. She knew she didn’t get away with anything during their run-in a couple of weeks ago, but she had held out hope that he had forgotten her name again.

Malfoy examined her from the corner of his eye as he finished ordering, so Hermione stalked off to the window closest to the claiming area.  She glowered at the barista, willing her to move as quickly as possible. As Malfoy sauntered over, a self-satisfied grin on his face, her arms instinctively folded over her chest, and her right foot crossed over her left ankle.

“Are we still playing games today?” he asked.  His smile challenged her to say, ‘yes.’

She grunted. “What do you want from me, Malfoy?”

“There she is,” he said, a smug, triumphant smile radiating from his face. “Care to tell me why you were so adamant to pretend we didn’t know each other last time?”

Hermione’s face twisted into a scowl. “Have you lost the plot?”

Malfoy quirked a blond eyebrow.

“You made my life a living hell for seven years! Do you really think after all that, I’d greet you like we were old school chums?” The end of her question veered into a screech.

He heaved a dramatic sigh. “I hardly remember it being that bad.”

“You wouldn’t!” she said. “You weren’t the one on the wrong end of the bullying.”

“I didn’t bully you,” he said, looking affronted.

She barked a harsh laugh. “Every bleeding day, you made fun of at least one of the following,” she said, and she extended her fingers as she listed. “My hair, teeth, clothes, friends – oh, don’t roll your eyes! – social class, love of learning. And did I mention my hair and teeth?”

A dent formed on his brow as he narrowed his eyes at her, but he didn’t respond.

“Well? If that’s not bullying, then what do you call it?” she prodded.

A small smile formed on his lips. “Flirting?”

Her neck whipped back as if to swerve away from his words.

“Haven’t you ever heard that when little boys like girls, they pull on their pigtails?” He chuckled.

Hermione shook her head slowly. “No, that can’t be true.”

She tried to recall girls he dated while they were in school: Daphne Greengrass, the blonde princess of their year; Pansy Parkinson, the raven-haired badass bitch who most of the boys, including one of her best friends, pined after; and Katie Bell, not quite as pretty as the others, but athletic and funny and extremely popular.

And now she’s supposed to believe that the whole time, he had been carrying a torch for her?

Yeah- _fucking_ -right.

She nearly growled from the vexation building up in her chest. “Good gods, Malfoy, you’d say anything to justify your bad behavior, wouldn’t you? You can’t just admit that you were a little shite in school.”

He threw his head back as his laughter rang out over the low din of the café. “I’m not saying I wasn’t a little shite,” he said. “Still am, I suppose, since you’re right – It’s not true. Glad to know you’re not as gullible as you look, Granger.”

Her eyes felt like they might fall out of her head, and her lips flapped open and closed as she grasped for something to say.

Was that some sort of _test_?

Rage tried to rip out of her chest; it nearly buried the small disappointment she felt at the pit of her stomach at his easy admission.

Hermione bowed her head slightly to hide the blush that crawled into her cheeks. “Well. Good.” She reached into the crevices of her mind for something more eloquent. “I mean – not good! You still treated me horribly throughout school, and, whatever your excuse, it’s not good enough,” she rambled.

His eyes rolled to the back of his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but the barista called out their orders. Holding up a finger to signal a brief pause, he retrieved their coffees from the counter.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he said when he came back. He handed her the paper cup with ‘Hermerny’ scribbled on the side.

“Thank you,” she murmured automatically as she took it from him. In a firmer voice, she said. “How about, ‘I’m sorry for all the things I said to you at Hogwarts?’”

He held the rim of his cup against his bottom lip for a moment, scrutinizing her, before taking a slow sip of the steaming liquid.

“Well?” she asked impatiently.

Malfoy shrugged. “Would you like me to mean it?”

“Obviously!”

The left corner of his lip sloped up in a tilted smile. “Then, I’m afraid I can’t say it.”

She snarled at his answer. “How about ‘good-bye,’ then?” she snapped. She stepped up and jabbed a finger into his chest. “Because I never, _ever_ want to see your face again, you arrogant twat! Do you hear me?”

His smile grew inexplicably bright. “Can’t do that either, Granger.”

Hermione threw her arms up in defeat, a dribble of her coffee sloshing out of the mouth of the lid. She stalked off.

“Where are you off to?” he asked.

Hermione glared at him over her shoulder but didn’t stop walking. “I have to go to work. I can’t stand around all morning arguing in circles with you.”

“I’ll see you again soon!” he bellowed as she passed through the doorway. She could hear the laughter in his voice, and it made the muscles in her jaws clench.

“Not bloody likely,” she muttered to herself. As convenient as this café was – it was only three blocks from work – this was probably the last time she would visit.

There’s just no way she could stand seeing the dodgy git again.

ooOOoo

“Good morning, Mr. Malfoy,” said Watson, his assistant, as he entered the lobby. Draco handed him the half-empty coffee cup as they made their way over to the lift. “The conference room is set up for the announcement.”

“Very good,” he said as the doors slid open. They stepped inside. “Everyone there? All the writers? Editors?”

“All of them, sir.”

A rare, giddy smile burst on his face; he rocked back and forth on his heels excitedly at the prospect waiting for him. He schooled his expression to a more appropriate level of sobriety as the doors opened on the twelfth level. They walked past the welcome desk, emblazoned with “The Daily Prophet” at its front. Behind was an unoccupied leather chair, the receptionist presumably waiting for him with the rest of the employees.

They strode through the newsroom, empty of the bustle that usually filled it at the peak of the morning. As Watson reached for the double doors of the conference room, the voice of Barnabus Cuffe resounded from inside.

“—under new ownership. Moving forward, the day-to-day running of the paper shouldn’t be affected, but our new owner—oh, here he is now!”

Draco sauntered up to the podium and took Cuffe’s proffered hand. Cuffe stepped out of the way to let him speak to the assembly.

“Good morning, everyone,” he said, his eyes eagerly searching the crowd. “I’m Draco Malfoy, Vice President of Malfoy Enterprises. As Mr. Cuffe was in the midst of explaining to you,” he glanced at Cuffe, who nodded enthusiastically, “for the last few months, our acquisition of _The Daily Prophet_ has been under escrow.  As of this morning, this newspaper is officially part of the M.E. family.”

A clamor spread over the group, many people jumping out of their seats and shouting in dissent. He paid them no heed, however, as he locked eyes with the person he had been seeking – a curly-haired brunette who sat in the middle of the crowd, eyes wide with shock, and paper cup of macchiato still clutched in her hand.

He gave her a private, wicked smile as he said to the crowd, “I look forward to seeing you often.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Dedicated to SeleneBlackburn, dramione101, pgoodrichboggs, Dtanvi, chaste-aeon, nalle_najar, Nanashi7, purpleninjacow, and Guest, who requested and encouraged the expansion of this drabble!
> 
> Updates to this five-part short story will be every other day, so I’ll see you soon for Part II :)
> 
> Comments/Kudos are greatly appreciated!


	2. 9-Down: Obsessive attachment (6 Letters)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine.

The staff gathered around the conference table during the morning budget meeting, a time when they decided which stories would be allocated space for upcoming issues.

Hermione tuned out Winkus Oddpick – something she often did, though she wouldn’t admit it to anyone – as he argued for his column advocating for more Ministry-sanctioned holidays to be printed on tomorrow’s paper.

She took a sip of her coffee – she went five blocks out of the way to go to a different coffee shop this morning – and forced it down her throat. The ‘earthy’ notes of the brew overpowered everything else, and she imagined this was how a mouthful of mud would taste.  Hermione needed the caffeine, though, more than she minded the flavor.

She wanted to be on her toes this morning.

Particularly since Malfoy sat at the head of the table, watching her in the way she’d often seen Crookshanks eye a smaller animal before he pounced on its neck.  His long fingers curled around the white paper cup adorned with the logo of Rhett’s Café.  He brought the cup to his lips and winked at her as he tipped it back.

Arrogant tosser.

“Is that all right, Miss Granger?” Cuffe asked.

She shifted her gaze to the editor-in-chief, who regarded her quizzically. The rest of the room fell silent, awaiting her response.

“Er— “ She froze.

“Of course, she’ll do it,” Malfoy interjected in a smooth voice.

“Wonderful! I’m absolutely chuffed at your willingness to step in for a reporter,” Cuffe said. He turned to Malfoy and boasted, “That’s the kind of environment I like to foster here at _The Prophet_ , Mr. Malfoy.  Team spirit, and all.  Everyone willing to step in wherever they’re needed.”  He addressed her again.  “Have the copy on my desk by Friday. With how big this story is, it will likely make front page on the Sunday edition.”

“Front page?” she squeaked.

“Oh, yes!” Cuffe gave her a cautionary look. “Do well on this assignment, Miss Granger. This is a rare case that can make or break one’s journalistic career.  Don’t squander this opportunity!”

She only managed a nervous bob of her head, but it satisfied Cuffe, who moved on to the next item on the agenda.

As his voice faded into the background, her mind reeled at the prospect of such monumental responsibility. She steadied the quavering quill in her hand and started putting together a to-do list.  She starred and underlined number one: find out just what the hell she was supposed to write about.

ooOOoo

Everyone scuttled out of the room when the meeting adjourned. Cuffe held him back a while longer as he bragged about how trusted _The Prophet_ was compared to other Wizarding publications. He managed not to look too terribly bored as he tried to shake off the clingy chief editor.

As he escaped toward the main reception, he heard a sharp hiss.  “Malfoy!”

Draco halted and looked behind him. Around the corner of the narrow hallway, Granger stood half-hidden. She looked around furtively before crooking a finger at him.

For fuck’s sake, if this was what the woman considered ‘stealth,’ she was going to have a hard time with her assignment.

He hid his amusement behind a stoic expression. She waved her arm in a wild gesture to get him to come over. Swiveling his head side-to-side, he crossed his arms and stood his ground.

“Oh, gods,” Granger muttered.

She marched over, not stopping as she passed him; rather, she grabbed the crook of his arm and dragged him in her wake. After pulling him down the short hallway, she shoved him into a large supply closet. She quickly stepped inside and leaned against the door, slamming it closed.

“A bit forward, don’t you think?” he asked. Her nerve took him by surprise, and he eagerly pushed to find its boundary. “Never pegged you to be the one to climb the corporate ladder this way, Granger. But, I understand, needs must.” He trailed off as he pretended to ease his jacket over his shoulder.

“Don’t you dare!” she yelped. Even in the dim lighting, her face was as red as a Quaffle.

His mirth bubbled over as a deep chuckle. “What do you want, Granger?”

She grew an even deeper shade of maroon. “What in the bloody hell did you just volunteer me for?!”

Draco laid a hand over his chest in mock alarm. “Hermione Granger, not paying attention in a meeting? Color me astonished!”

She arched her eyebrow, waiting for him to answer.

“All right. First off, it’s not my fault that you were too distracted by my presence to pay attention to anything el—”

She brought her fist up to the level of his chin; he threw his hands up in surrender.

“Bloody hell, Granger! You’ve got some pent-up rage!” She reeled her arm back, and he hurriedly said, “All right! Calm down!” He straightened his jacket in a huff. “You offered to cover a story for the Politics desk.”

“Politics?” She blanched. “Why would I cover politics? I’m not a reporter – I do the bloody crosswords!”

He leveled her with an accusatory gaze. “Which is a fucking shame. You graduated at the top of our class – and, yes, I can admit that your scores beat mine, not that I ever cared to try to outdo you. And now you make _crossword puzzles_ for a living?”

“It’s quite a suitable role for me,” she said. Her arms clamped across her chest, and her shoulders hunched up to her earlobes. “I have a head full of trivia, and it’s a bit of a creative outlet—”

“It’s pathetic,” he sneered. “You spend your days working on something that, at best, people completely ignore, and at worst, throw on the floor for their pets’ wastes. Is this really all you wanted to do here at _The Prophet_?”

She pursed her lips; the lower one briefly trembled. Something at the center of his chest tightened at the sight of it. He narrowed his eyes at her lip as he continued.

“If anything, you should be _thanking_ me for this opportunity.”

“Thanking you?” she said, her voice breathy with disbelief. “If Cuffe doesn’t like what I turn in on Friday, I could get _fired_.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to get fired,” he said. “You’re going to do this assignment. You’re going to do it well.” He took a step closer and bent his head down to meet her gaze.  “And, by the end of it all, you’re going to thank me.”

ooOOoo

“And then, what happened?” Her childhood best friend leaned forward, hanging onto every word of her story.

“And then, he just opened the door and walked out like he owned the place!” She blinked. “Which, I mean, I guess he does.”

He released a disgusted grunt. “It’s good to know Malfoy hasn’t changed since Hogwarts.”

“The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. And Malfoy is an arsehole. These are just facts of life.” She groaned and slumped over, thumping her forehead against the table. She winced when she felt something sticky weld to her skin. “I don’t know what to do, Nev!”

He sighed. “Sounds like there’s not much you _can_ do. Except tackle that assignment.”

“I don’t have a _choice_. As I was leaving the office, Cuffe stopped by my desk,” she complained, as she sat up and put her fingers above her lip in imitation of her boss twirling the end of his mustache. “He said, ‘Well, Miss Granger, I look forward to your article. It’s our first big scoop since we’ve been acquired by M.E., so it’s of the utmost importance that this goes well.’”

Neville grimaced. He reached over, paper napkin in hand, and wiped whatever had stuck to her forehead. “Do you even know what it is you’re supposed to write about?”

Hermione looked around the Leaky Cauldron for any potential eavesdroppers before answering in a hushed tone. “Apparently, before Whittemore got admitted to St. Mungo’s, he was working on a story about the Wizengamot. Someone there has been selling state secrets to a foreign agent.”

“Huh,” he said, his eyes filling up with concern. “What happened to Whittemore?”

She shrugged. “No one knows. A few days ago, he was found unresponsive in an alley near the Ministry. His wife said the healers think he was hit by a curse, but they haven’t been able to narrow it down.”

“And, this was all because of the story he was investigating?”

“Likely.”

“This sounds really dangerous, Hermione,” Neville said, a frown marring his face.

She folded her arms on the table and planted her chin on her wrist. “No choice,” she repeated.

Neville leaned back and signaled to Hannah to bring them another round of Firewhiskey. “There’s really no way to get out of it?”

“Nothing short of getting down on my knees and groveling in front of Malfoy,” she said. “And, even then, I’m sure he wouldn’t let me off the hook. He’d just take a perverse pleasure out of watching me beg.”

He snorted.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Neville said. He glanced at her coyly. “It’s just, have you ever wondered why Malfoy always seemed to – er, _fixate_ – on you?”

She laughed at the term.

“Don’t get me wrong, he was a bastard to everyone outside of his social circle,” he continued. “But, it always seemed to me that he went out of his way to torment you, and it sounds like he’s doing it now.”

Hermione sniffed. “If you’re implying that he gives me special attention because he has some sort of interest in me, you can save it,” she said. “He as much as told me that wasn’t the case.”

Neville’s eyes squinted in confusion. “He _told_ you he wasn’t interested? _You_ asked him?”

“Of course not! He’s the one who brought it up.” She scowled at the memory. “He suggested that he teased me all the way through school because of – I don’t know, puppy love? – and then, in true Malfoy fashion, he pulled the rug out from under me saying it wasn’t true.”

He opened his mouth to retort when Hannah came over with their refills. He beamed at her as she handed him his glass, briefly freezing as their fingertips touched. As Hannah walked away, Neville tracked her with his eyes, his hand with the tumbler of Firewhiskey still hovering in the air.

Hermione rolled her eyes at her best friend’s hopelessness. She cleared her throat.

Neville twisted his neck forward and gave her a blank stare.

“You were saying?” she asked.

“Erm, sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Lost my train of thought.”

She shook her head and slapped his arm with the back of her hand. “It’s all right,” she said. “Why don’t we just drink up so we can order another round?”

Neville chugged his Firewhiskey as Hermione held up a finger to get Hannah’s attention.

ooOOoo

He hustled down the grand staircase and entered the dining room.

“Draco!” Narcissa exclaimed.  She placed her cup down as he approached. “You’re up early again!”

He bent down to kiss her cheek. “Good morning, Mother.” He made his way to the sideboard and poured himself a cup of tea.

“Are you heading into London this morning?”

He nodded as he settled into the chair across from her. “I’m attending the morning meeting at _The Daily Prophet_.”

Lucius, who sat at the head of the table, folded that morning’s copy of the newspaper and peered over it to study his son. “Going in for another meeting? Is the paper so bad that it has to be micromanaged?”

“Maybe he was bitten by the journalism bug,” said his brother-in-all-but-name, as he sauntered into the room. He stopped by Narcissa’s side to give her a peck on the cheek before gathering his own breakfast.

“Is that true?” Narcissa’s eyes lit up. “I’m excited that you’ve found something that interests you, darling! I know you’ve been wanting to switch to a different career—”

“He already has a career,” his father said, his voice full of warning as he brought his attention back to the article he had been reading. “He’s being groomed to take over Malfoy Enterprises when I retire.”

“Yes, Father,” Draco said drily. He shared a look with his best friend, who had assembled a bowl of fruit from the buffet and sat down next to Narcissa. “I know better than to abandon ship for any job that may bring me a semblance of joy.”

“Take care not to fall into histrionics, son,” remarked Lucius from behind the newspaper.

“Don’t worry, Lucius,” came from the man on Narcissa’s right. His lightning-shaped scar was briefly visible as he ran his fingers through his tousled black hair. He gave Draco the trademark Malfoy smirk, an expression he picked up since their handshake on that first train ride to Hogwarts. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason for Draco to pay so much attention to _The Prophet_.”

Draco settled Harry with a cautioning glare. Harry stared back, wide-eyed and guiltless, as he stabbed a piece of melon and stuffed it in his mouth.

Draco released a quiet grumble. He took the square cloth off his lap and stood up.

“Leaving so soon? You haven’t even finished your tea!” said Narcissa.

He grinned. “I’ll grab coffee on the way. Have a good day, Mother. Father,” he said. He tossed his napkin at Harry’s head, whose shoulders shook in silent laughter. “Potter.”

“Have fun at your meeting, Draco!” Harry called out.

As he left the room, he heard his mother say, “Coffee? Since when has he preferred coffee to tea?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading!  
> Comments/Kudos are greatly appreciated!


End file.
